


Paper Crowns

by oliverdalstonbrowning



Category: The Hobbit - All Media Types
Genre: Allegiance, Angst, Character Death, Developing Romance, Kind Thranduil, Letters, M/M, The White Gems of Lasgalen, letter-writing, post-BotFA, sfw
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-06-15
Updated: 2017-06-15
Packaged: 2018-11-14 09:25:19
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,796
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11205111
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/oliverdalstonbrowning/pseuds/oliverdalstonbrowning
Summary: How long the days, how short the months. Winter is fast approaching, and exchanging letters help Bard and Thranduil bear irritating Dwarves and troublesome spiders until they can see each other again.





	Paper Crowns

**Author's Note:**

> This is my submission for the Barduil Mini Bang 2017, wonderfully organised by [B](http://evansluke.tumblr.com). This is my first canon fic, so I hope I do canon justice and I hope everyone who reads enjoys the story! 
> 
> And very special thanks to [Anna](http://flurgburgler.tumblr.com/) and [Nana](http://angstyourwayin.tumblr.com/) for choosing my fic and drawing wonderful, breathtaking art for it. You can see them [here](http://flurgburgler.tumblr.com/post/161869833413/i-have-been-so-excited-to-post-these-my) and [here](http://angstyourwayin.tumblr.com/post/161880470864/hey-this-is-my-entry-for-the-barduil-mini-bang)

**Hithui, T.A 2944 - November.**

-

 

Dear Bard,

    Words cannot express the grief I feel at our separation. I confess to having slept very little since leaving Dale, and your good company. I would have stayed longer, but it seems Greenwood cannot cope without me. A month gone and the spiders have grown bolder, creeping into the edges of my realm and poisoning the trees. There is much we must do now to stop the infection from spreading.

    Needless to say, I am in a very bad mood and miss you terribly. I console myself only by knowing I have left you in the most capable hands I could find within Dale that are not my own. No doubt Sigrid has you arrow-proof in your many skins and coats. I fret to think how Men survive the harsh conditions of winter. Should you require any assistance or supplies during the coming months, you need only ask it of me.

    I hope rebuilding goes well.

    Yours,

Thranduil.

 

* * *

 

 

Dear Thranduil,

    I am touched by your offer, but everything is moving along excellently here, and you have done more than enough for us already. You are right to suggest, however, that Sigrid has me very well-taken care of. I can scarcely move my arm to write this letter for all the layers she insists that I wear.

    If you would like me to alleviate your suffering with some of my own, I would have you know that one of our towers had to be felled yesterday and we found Orc remains inside it. Very unpleasant, and it frightened some of the men. To think they have face living, breathing Orcs with swords, and barely flinched, but some decayed corpses are sending them home to their mothers like children. This is nothing in comparison to your poor trees, of course, but there are many grievances to be had here as well. I long only to rest and have a moment of peace, but the weight of a crown is a decidedly heavy one. I wish it were as light as the parchment I write on instead. I cannot begin to imagine how you have ruled for so many years and not strangled every person who dares demand something of you. If I am asked to look at one more floor-plan because ‘my approval is required’ I might just go find another dragon to come lay waste to this town once more.

    I only jest, you must understand, but the temptation is quite overwhelming.

    Missing you,

Bard.

 

* * *

 

 

Dear Bard,

    I think to bear a paper crown would be a greater burden, for the weight of words may be heavier than that of gold. But I do not blame you for being frustrated by leadership. As old and already weary as I am, nothing irritates me more than my subjects thinking they can get away with mischief and badgering. I find that if you practice a withered expression in the mirror, they tend to give you a wide birth when you desire it. I am bothered less and less when it looks like I’m bored. Although, I usually am so this is not as difficult for me to achieve as I originally thought it would. That makes me sound tiresome, but never mind.

    It is very quiet here. With Legolas gone, there is very little to say to anyone, so expect my letters to be frequent, as you are the only person I think worthy of conversation as of late. My people are concerned about the forest – as am I – but the topic does get old quickly. We are working so hard to help the trees, but with winter approaching the soil is hardening and it will not yield to our hands. We must achieve much before the snow sets in, but constantly telling me so will not speed up the process.

    Yours,

Thranduil.

 

* * *

 

Dear Thranduil,

    I sympathise with your beautiful trees. The persistence and determination of Elves never ceases to amaze me. I might think there would be no green in the whole world if it weren’t for such deliverance as yours.   

    We had an avalanche disrupt our work last night. Winter comes quicker up here in the mountains and it has snowed thickly for several days. I hope it does not reach you for many weeks yet. I am almost tempted to come and see your magnificent woods before they are encased in it, but I’m afraid to say that any escape from this wretched cold and ruins is blocked by snow. So much snow! I am properly and completely miserable, yet I must see to negotiations with those infernal Dwarves as we will not survive the winter in tents. I wish you were here to help me endure it. Talking with them was so much easier with your eye-rolls to make me smile from the other side of the table.

    Stay warm,

Bard.

 

* * *

 

 

Dear Bard,

    Your poor messenger was an ice cube when he arrived with your letter. Shame on you, Bard, for giving him only a coat to wear! If you’ve been wondering where he has been this past week, I have held him hostage to recover so that he might come home with my own letter to you.

    I would have you dragged to Greenwood by your ear if not for that awful snow. It has not yet reached us, but the trees are frosted on their tops and when it melts the forest is damp and the leaves are like light. It is very beautiful, but I am disinclined to leave the warmth of my chambers. The trees need my attention, but so does the fire. You can imagine which I’d rather tend to.

    I am very sorry to hear about that avalanche. But we must talk no more of snow, as it only bars my way to you even more and makes me feel wretched. When winter passes, you must come here and see the spring in Greenwood. It is truly a sight. The sun filters down through the trees and everything is so green you wonder if your eyes are not playing a trick on you.

    I hope negotiations with the Dwarves went well. I do not envy your position. If it goes badly, I have plenty of spare rooms and a half-empty bed.

    Yours,

Thranduil.

 

❅

 

**Girithron, T.A 2944 - December.**

-

 

Dear Thranduil,

    I am surprised my messenger came back at all with what he is saying about your kingdom. He claims its magnificence cannot be rivalled and I am very jealous that he has seen it when I cannot. But I accept your invitation to visit when winter is over. I wish to see this magnificence for myself.

    Negotiations went better than expected, if I’m honest. I am currently residing in a very dusty bed chamber in Erebor. For all its spiders and faint smell of dragon, I cannot help but be grateful for the warmth. I can now share your enthusiasm for a fire, as can all my subjects. They are very happy to have somewhere kinder than tents and crumbled stone to keep them until warmer weather arrives. And I have little to do now that there is no rebuilding to oversee. It is good to spend time with my children properly. Bain explores Erebor and he brings back such curious trinkets. I’ve enclosed one of them, but you cannot breathe a word of it to anyone or I might be thrown out of Erebor or into one of its dungeons. It is a dolphin (is that the creature? I’m not sure) made of what I think is crystal. I daresay it is nothing like your gems, but I thought you would enjoy it.

    My love,

Bard.

 

* * *

 

 

Dear Bard,

    I am speechless at your gift, as it is far more precious than just simple crystal. It is a water gem. If you hold it up to the moonlit it will glow like star. Thank you.

    On the topic of jewels, if you receive any word or promise concerning my gems, do let me know. I am nothing if not determined, and if King Dain thinks to be haughty with me, it will take more than cold elements to stop me from barging in there and taking my property by force. He is lucky I am kept busy as of late. There are still some burials to oversee. It is a misery, to say the least, and I find myself frequenting my cellar with Tauriel as she also cannot bear to be reminded of death. She misses the young dwarf and I miss you and we are both of us too despondent for anyone’s company but our own.

    This letter comes with a strongly-worded warning to the King Under the Mountain. Do see that he gets it.

Thranduil.  

 

* * *

 

 

My Dearest Bard,

    I send this letter with the greatest of haste. Snow has finally reached me and it is a tempest. The trees are capped with white and the animals sleep in the deepest caves in the mountains. I regret to say this will be my last letter as I will not punish my courier to venture into such peril to deliver my words. I hope beyond hope that this reaches you, for if the snow is so bad here, it must be worse over there.

    Stay warm, _Mell nín,_ and be safe. In my many millennia, no passage of time will feel as long as these coming months without word from you. I wait eagerly for the spring to come and bring you with it in the wake of the budding flowers.

    Send word as soon as you are able. And take care of my courier if he cannot make the journey home. I doubt very much that he will be pleased to remain in the company of Dwarves and Men until it is safe to return to Greenwood.

    _Nîn velui a lalaith veren nalú en-agovaded vín._

Thranduil.

 

❅

 

**Nínui, T.A 2945 - February.**

-

 

Thranduil.

    The snow has finally let up. I can hardly believe it. I was certain the world would be white and cold forever.

    I must say, I sympathise with your messenger. He did not seem at all impressed at his new residence, and I stand with him on that front. While I appreciate the Dwarves’ hospitality, it is difficult to tolerate their nagging and irrefutable tempers. Their behaviour also suggests I ought to be more grateful for their patronage during the winter, but I don’t know how much more I can show my gratitude when I have nothing to offer them for it just yet. If I bow one more time, my back will break.

    This winter has tried my patience and my will. We lost some of our own to illness. The battle has wearied us more than we care to admit and many did not have the strength or heart left to break a fever. To think, after all my people have been through, and it is illness that must be the dread to take them. I myself fell ill for several days, and I wish I could have been well enough to tend to those who needed it more.

    I hope winter was not nearly as frosty in your part of the world, and that you were safe and warm for it. I know you must hate the cold, but I still imagine your forest looks like a dream capped all in white snow.

    Dain has been mentioning negotiations and the like, so I daresay you will receive word from him soon. He did not appreciate your words of warning, so be prepared for that. However, it will be nice to see each other again, whether in these dreary halls or among the brightness of your forest.

    I should finish this letter. Your messenger has just come to say he is leaving, and I don’t want him to leave without it. I’m sending along a piece of embroidery from Sigrid. She was very excited to learn the art, and she wanted to thank you for helping us.

    Your Friend,

Bard.

 

* * *

 

 

Dear Bard.

    It grieves me to hear that you were unwell, and that winter troubled you so. Many times, I felt I should have extended my stay in Erebor, and granted you clemency from the Dwarves. But I cannot wander far from my woods, or for too long. The snow was harsh this year and the trees needed much care. But they were indeed fair and beautiful in the frost and sunny mornings, just as you thought.

    Since we are both of us relieved from the wretchedness of winter, I was inclined to invite you and your family to my woods, but I’ve just received a letter from those insufferable Dwarves to attend the negotiations you mentioned. I suppose I should be thankful, for I will be able to see you either way.

    Ardently Yours,

Thranduil.

 

❅

 

The delegation from Greenwood was arriving that morning. Bard woke early, restless and grinning, watching the sun rise from his quarters in Erebor, peaking over the top of the mountain. It was cold, still, but his heart was warm.

    He bathed, dressed, breakfasted, hassled his children into looking their best, and then resigned himself to sitting in the parlour overlooking the mountain slope, where Thranduil would no doubt be arriving from.

    He thought of the last time he had seen Thranduil. Mere months, though it felt like years. He remembered the quiet touches they had exchanged before parting ways; Thranduil’s hand at Bard’s forearm, his shoulder, his hair. It made Bard smile just to think of it, and he brushed the back of his neck as if he might relive the sensation of Thranduil’s fingers there.

    “Look, da!”

    Tilda pressed her nose to the window in excitement. Bard looked up, and he saw distant figures climbing the mountain on horses. He stood, heart skittering frantically, and then he sat back down again, embarrassed at his impatience.

    “How long will the Elves be staying?” Tilda asked, ungluing her nose from the window.

    “I don’t know,” Bard said truthfully. “They are here to discuss trade, but perhaps they will linger if King Dain permits it.”

    Bard and his children were called into the foyer to greet Thranduil. It was a formality he wanted to do without – to perhaps spare making a fool of himself in front of those who were born to rule – but he had no choice in the matter. He supposed he could greet Thranduil properly later that evening, when they had some time away from inquisitive Dwarves.

    The procession of Elves was smaller than Bard had been expecting, but he figured there was no need for Thranduil to bring an entire army this time. It was just him and half-a-dozen of his kin, the vibrant, red-haired elf that had helped Bard’s children bringing up the rear with a strange, unhappy expression on her face.

    But Bard’s eyes were on Thranduil. He was simply dressed (or, as simply could be said of an Elf), and his hair was unadorned. Bard imagined it was a star that had come down to the Lonely Mountain.

    Considering it had been he to extend the invitation to the Elvenking, Dain appeared less than pleased at Thranduil’s arrival. His words were short and gruff, and Thranduil regarded him with a touch of amusement, looking down on him in a way that suggested it was more than just their difference in stature that Thranduil saw. Bard’s mouth quirked at a smile at their passive-aggressive exchanges.

    The meeting to discuss trade and negotiate treaties was to be held later that afternoon. Thranduil evidently had his time occupied because Bard didn’t see him until then. He entered the parlour and was given the seat next to Bard, so that only the corner of the table was between them. Bard tried not to blush under Thranduil’s kind smile as he poured himself some wine, and then some for Bard.

    “Did you have a good journey?” Bard asked.

    “Yes. However, we were grieved to leave behind the warmth of our forest. Spring has already begun to settle. This negotiation will interfere with planting,” Thranduil said.

    “Can it not be done without you?” said Bard.

    “It can, but I prefer to be present. I hope to leave as soon as the negotiations are settled.”

    Bard’s heart sunk momentarily, but he did not let the disappointment show on his face. “Well, I am happy to see you here, even for only an evening.”

    Thranduil smiled again, and if Bard was not mistaken, he even blushed faintly. He opened his mouth to respond, but across the table Dain began to speak, and so they were forced into silence to hear him out. Bard glanced to his right in time to watch Thranduil purposely rearrange his expression into one that appeared sufficiently disinterested. Bard bit back a smirk, remembering the advice Thranduil had given in one of his letters.

    The meeting that afternoon took much into account, including borders, money owed, grief settlement, military reimbursement, and trade. Bard admittedly had little to say in any of these matters, except perhaps where money was concerned. He still hadn’t received much help from the Dwarves in regards to rebuilding Dale.

    “The rebuilding of the city benefits everyone,” he said firmly. “It was a trade centre, and it will be again. It stands as a gateway between all races, and as benefactors of trade, you ought to provide more than what you have given.”

    Dain frowned, his thick eyebrows joining above the bridge of his nose. “We have given more than is needed, if you ask me. What have you offered to repay us for the generosity?”

    Bard opened his mouth to retort, but Thranduil cut him off with a wave of his hand.

    “Your so-called generosity is ill-founded and short on respect. You can’t expect Bard to have something to show with the nothing you have provided. If you want mutual benefits from our partnership, then you must be prepared to pull your weight, or it is no longer equal.”

    Bard took a sip of wine so as not to give away how amused he was. He liked Thranduil’s way with words. He was so polite and calm. Like a politician, Bard thought, but not useless or biased.

    “Fine, then, what do you propose?” said Dain.

    Bard was tired. The wine was drowsing him, and the more he drank, the more beautiful and distracting Thranduil became in the dim firelight, his silver hair turned gold and his blue eyes alight. Bard had no patience for treaties or matters of trade. He just wanted talk with Thranduil about all the things they hadn’t had the time to write in their letters; to talk until there weren’t any words left.

    Almost blindly he accepted whatever terms were put forth to him. They all sounded reasonable, and Thranduil was speaking on behalf of Dale, which suited Bard just fine. He wasn’t experienced enough for politics and matters of state. He wasn’t King enough for that. He had simply stepped up when no one else could, and second-guessed his actions ever since.

    “Are you alright?” Thranduil asked.

    It was nearly midnight, and the meeting was finally over.

    “A bit out of my depth,” Bard confessed. “I am unaccustomed to formalities such as these.”

    He paused, reconsidering his words. He didn’t want to appear poorly in front of Thranduil. Stupid, that is, or ill-equipped for his position.

    “I felt unneeded. Many arrangements were made only between you and Erebor,” he finally said.

    Thranduil smiled sympathetically. “Do not be so quick to dismiss your role here. You are more important than the credit you give yourself. Once Dale is rebuilt, you will have more to bargain with. As a centre of trade, Dain will soon realise that as well. Allow some time for him to settle and rethink his decisions. His stubbornness will only hinder any progress.”

    They walked for a moment in silence, their footsteps echoing up Erebor’s long, high-ceilinged corridors.

    “Are his claims about your gems true? That they do not belong to the Elves?” said Bard.

    Thranduil sighed. “The history of the gems is unclear and unrecorded, but Elves know what they see, regardless of their possession. They are most rare and cannot be made again if lost or forgotten.”

    “Why is that?” said Bard.

    “They are made from the dew of a tree of light, which no longer exists.”

    “What happened to it?” Bard wondered.

    Thranduil’s brow furrowed. “It’s a sad story.”

    Bard decided it best not to press the topic. It was evident the gems were important to Thranduil, however superficial that made him look. Bard had never doubted that they were worth more than just a price in gold or status. They were heirlooms. They were lifeblood.

    Bard bid goodnight to Thranduil. But, instead of retiring to his own room, he returned to the parlour were Dain and several other Dwarves were still in conference. When Bard entered, they all fell quiet and watched him, their beady eyes suspicious.

    “I wish to propose an alternative offer,” Bard said.

    “This better be good,” said Dain.

    “The gems King Thranduil asks for. Give them to me. In exchange, I’ll ask for no more favours. I will rebuild the city on my own, and you may still reap the benefits of its trade.”

    Dain looked highly affronted by this request. “Those gems are worth far more than the initial price you were asking for to rebuild.”

    “What price? Who would pay so much for them?”

    “I can think of someone,” Dain sneered. “And he’s willing to offer a lot more than you, I’m sure of it.”

    “So you’re using the gems as ransom,” Bard said hotly. “That’s not partnership, that’s blackmail. Even with all your vast riches, I don’t think you can afford to have such a powerful neighbour as your enemy. You saw what Thranduil did during the battle. You owe him for not turning his back on you all. You’re lucky he did not come to your summons today with another army with the way you have treated him.”

    “I don’t owe anything to the pixie traitor. His allegiance against the orcs was repayment for abandoning my family in their time of need.”

    “Coming to your aid against dragonfire would have changed nothing. His people would have perished as well, and you would have had no help in reclaiming the mountain,” Bard said.

    Dain’s expression was very sour, but Bard took no heed of it. He was not scared of the Dwarf. He was in not so high a position as he deemed himself. He needed Bard and Thranduil, for without them he would have no nearby allies, and such a thing was rare and hard to come by in these times. If he turned them out, befriending another kingdom may take years, and by then it would be too late if something were to happen.

    “Fine,” Dain spat. “Take the gems, and may the devil take you for siding with forest-dwellers and sprites.”

    A chest was brought out, and Bard took it. It was heavy for its size, and he wanted to look inside, but didn’t. He took it to his room, and barely slept the night.

  

    Bard was awake at dawn again, eyes bleary and his head a bit sore.

    Nevertheless, he washed and dressed and he asked for Thranduil’s room, carrying the chest close and holding it tightly. Thranduil was awake when Bard knocked and entered, and when he saw what Bard had in his hands, stood completely still.

    “I arranged a bargain,” said Bard, holding the chest forward. “Dain isn’t fair, but he relented.”

    “You – you did that for me?” Thranduil whispered. “Why?”

    Bard blushed a little. “It’s important to you, and that’s important to me. I – I care for you, and you deserve to have what you came for. If I can be of any help in my shorter mortal years, then I will be.”

    Thranduil moved forward, his long fingers grasping each side of the chest. He set it down on the table in his room, and very carefully creaked it open.

    Bard didn’t see anything inside; just light, and maybe magic. A part of Thranduil being set free.

    “I don’t know how to thank you for this,” he said.

    Bard smiled. “Your happiness is thanks enough.”

    Thranduil suddenly bridged the gap between them, and his hands, still soft and warm from sleep, found Bard’s. Thranduil leaned down and kissed him. Starlight spilled out from the chest behind them, and it filled Bard’s heart with light. He raised himself higher, looping his arms around Thranduil’s neck, running his fingers through his silver hair.

    “I’m going to come back,” Thranduil murmured when they broke apart. “I will leave and come back and help you rebuild.”

    “How do you know I need help rebuilding?” said Bard.

    Thranduil smirked. “Do not take me for a fool, Bard. You did not get my gems for nothing.”

    Bard wrinkled his nose. “I did not do it to gain your favour, though.”

    “But you have it, and I’ll come back.”

    Thranduil kissed Bard again, quickly, and then deeply, bringing them closer together.

    He wasn’t sad when Thranduil left that day. Bard stood on the slope and waved goodbye to the small procession of Elves, carrying with them a chest full of jewels and hearts full of gladness. Bard would wait eagerly for their return, so that he might see Thranduil again.

 

❅

 

**Gwaeron, T.A 2945 - March.**

-

 

My Dearest Bard.  

    It is so beautiful here in the near springtime. The flowers have not yet come through, but the trees are green and alive again, and the rain comes down like a waterfall to help everything grow. I wish you could see it.

    I’m sorry my return has been so delayed already. I promised soon, but the woods do desperately need my attention during this time of the year. When blooming begins, I will leave at once.

    My love,

Thranduil.

 

❅

 

**Gwirith, T.A 2945 - April**

-

 

Dear Bard.

    My return is postponed once more. Spiders are infesting the forest again and trying my patience. We must keep them back in order to secure the safety of the trees and the spring flowers. They are starting to come through the soil, and the earth is all alive. It lifts my heart, but not so much as the thought of seeing you does. I’ve enclosed in this letter some seeds of my favourite flower. I won’t tell you what it is. You must plant them and let it be a surprise.

    Allow me another fortnight to rid my woods of the spiders and then I will return to Erebor to help you rebuild the city. You must be busy if you have not had the time to write, but if my visit is inconvenient for you now, please say so, and I will come when you need me instead.

    Yours,

Thranduil.

 

* * *

 

 

To The King of the Woodland Realm.

    The King of Dale has died. Long live the Queen.

    29 March, T.A 2495.

 

_Letter Attached:_

 

Dear King Thranduil.

    Da died. He was working in the city and his heart failed him. There was nothing we could do.

    I know he loved you. He talked about you all the time. It has been so long since I’ve seen him so full of light and laughter after all those years in the dark. I am glad he had you, towards the end, even though you were not here when he left us. You saved him, for a while. Or maybe forever.

    He’s resting now. I planted the seeds you sent above his grave in the cemetery. Please come visit him. I think he’d like to see you one last time.

    Sincerely,

Queen Sigrid.

 

* * *

 

 

Dear Bard.

    We are separated, you and I, but my plans to help rebuild the city have not changed. I’ll come back. I’ll come back to you. I hope you will still have me.

    I’m watching the spring flowers grow. I hope you’re enjoying the flower seeds I sent you. They will sprout quickly - like magic - if you love them, and I know you will. They may have already bloomed when I visit, so we can admire their beauty together.

    I look forward to seeing your face again. Long are the days when we do not have each other’s company, or each other’s words, and I miss you. Sadly, I still cannot say when I will return to you, but I am working tirelessly to ensure that it will be as soon as possible. When I write you another letter, I promise to follow in its wake.

    Stay safe, _meleth nín._

Thranduil.

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you again for reading!


End file.
